Trust Fall
by FluffyTheDino
Summary: Castiel seeks help from Crowley in the days of the Apocalypse.


It was in those desponded days before the coming end that Crowley found himself thinking back on his life. It felt odd to refer to what he'd been doing these last centuries as living. Felt like a mockery to even think it. He couldn't really put what he though into words.

Crowley hadn't always been a demon. Long before his days as King of the Crossroads, he had been a lousy father, poor investor, and so completely _human_. When he pondered those days so far gone, he didn't feel remorse for how he lived his original life. Maybe there was a tad bit of regret when his mind's needle skipped on that certain part of the record that was his downfall. He'd made a deal with a demon. Really, it's embarrassing now since he was the demon people were lining up to sell their souls to. And with each kiss that seals their contract, there's always that lazy little constant in the back of his mind.

_What a stupid sod._ Honestly, it's so outrageous what people will give up eternal paradise for these day. Still, he thinks of the irony on those rare occasions when he remembers his own lost soul. All for a few extra inches. Regrettably one of his least thought out decisions, and to this day, the only one that's effected him on such a large scale. Although maybe it wasn't so bad. Hell could have been worse. Sure there was the torture as his existence was grated away day after day until all that was left was a grotesquely pain filled plea to make the horrors stop, only to have his form restored, and it all start over again. It had been a particularly torturous day when he had clawed his way out of the pit. He might have even stopped to say goodbye to Caligula on his way out of there. But time _was_ short, and he hardly knew the guy. Good company, that one. Could always tell a good story. When his voice wasn't raw from the seemingly endless screams, of course.

Though it did help put things into perspective. Left him thinking of why he'd been there in the first place. Over the years, Crowley grew to be quietly ashamed of how he had gotten his start as a demon. Don't get him wrong, he's a proud demon. Though he'd easily let people go about thinking he'd maimed legions to earn his spot in Hell, never corrected their blunder. It's not like it even mattered what the others thought. Crowley had become a horridly evil creature despite his beginnings. Plus he did have a long Johnson, and that typically kept him happy.

Lost in his long time line, he hardly noticed the sharp flutter of wings. The angel didn't announce his presence. Not like he had to. When ever this holy thing came with in a 2 mile radius it made his short hairs stand on end. _Angels._ Who'd have thought. Here he was doing his own thing, and then everything is suddenly angels, and _oh _it's the end of the world. Hadn't been able to sit down and properly enjoy himself since this whole mess started. Along with the hopeless days going by, it became increasingly obvious that things weren't just going to go back to normal anytime soon, if ever.

So excuse him if he doesn't stop everything just because the Winchester's lap dog has come bearing grim news yet _again._ There's not enough time left in this world.

Castiel invites himself to sit in a chair opposite of the demon, that look on his face like he's about to say something that will be hard to hear. Must be Thursday. Still the angel hesitates. Crowley rolls his eyes and contemplates telling him to just spit it out already. Honestly, he shouldn't take so much care with everything. Sure it was bound to be something bad. What does it matter how you say it? Rain is still wet, and the sun is still hot.

"It's Gabriel," Castiel said carefully. Ah yes, the smug renegade angel who ran away from home. Crowley never really decided how he felt about that one. The angel went on. "He went up against Lucifer, and didn't walk away." Castiel hung his head ever so slightly at the remark of his fallen brother. "Out defenses have weakened considerable. He was a strong asset." The last part come off a little more endearingly than he probably meant to show the demon.

No, it wasn't quite the news he had expected. Maybe something more along the lines of _Lucifer has all the horsemen, and now we're going to say good bye to life. _To be truthful, that's what he wanted to hear. Not another hit that makes them more vulnerable. Digging further into this hole that you'd think would end. The thought swayed in his mind, none of it meaning as much as it use to. Looking up, Crowley considered how to say all of this. To tell him that he was done. Instead his malformed thoughts stilled when he say the look on Castiel's face.

A deep aching sorrow. It wasn't so much in the lines of his stone mask he always wore, but in the way he sat, in his aura that spiked such a dark gray. And those eyes. Right then, they looked so simple. A layer of complexity had been pealed away for an instant. It was gone soon enough, and the demon didn't really know what to say now. So he didn't say anything. Vaguely he wondered why Castiel was still here. The update was done. Usually he'd gone by now.

As if reading his mind, the angel stood, looking smaller than Crowley remembered him to be. He took a few unnecessary steps, but lingered in the doorway. Wondering if he should share something else? It was so oddly human the way he stood there. Suddenly he was gone, clearly deciding against telling him anymore. Crowley could have cared less.

"Until next time, then." He said to the empty room, raising his glass to thin air.

Which, as it turns out wasn't that long after. In fact Crowley hadn't even finished his glass of scotch that had gone forgotten in his left hand. A sweet smell drifted over through the cooled air when he heard those exaggerated wisps from behind him. Something like chocolate, yet completely different. As usual, Castiel said nothing into the silence stretched out before him. The demon took another wide sip of Craig, the burning smell filling his lungs, sliding down his throat, and warming his chest. Twisting around inside of him like, well like the demon he was.

Behind him there was a soft thud. Crowley sighed, looking back, wondering absently if the angel had damaged anything in his villa. Not that he really minded, end of days and all. Though what he saw didn't shock him in the normal sense of the word. If anything it only mildly surprised him. Mainly he was curious at the sight of an angel laid bloody on his Korean imported carpet. Downing the rest of his chilled drink, he huffed himself up. Crowley breathed in that sweet not-chocolate smell, that now as he thought, maybe smelled like honey.

There was one thing that the King of the Crossroads prided himself on. Generally knowing more than those around him. It wasn't an ego thing, just a fact he found through the centuries. People came to him for a variety of reasons. Most of the times it was to drink from the great fount of knowledge that was Crowley. For a certain price of course. He was a business man above all else.

That's why it pained him to even think it, but he honestly didn't know a great deal about angels. They were a whole different breed apart from demons like himself. Like angel blood. Could it hurt him? Surely it's holy. So he kept a distance from the pooling crimson.

"Oi." He said in the general direction of his new floor friend, who didn't know it yet, but he was going to be buying this resident a new carpet. "You awake down there?" He was greeted by the occasional rise and fall of Castiel's stained trench coat. Along with his lack of wisdom on the subject was any means of patching the angel up to anything considered helping. Which begged the question, Why washe_ here?_ In turn, baits his curiosity.

Crowley nudged him with his wing tipped dress shoes. He knew there was an urgency that wasn't quite making it across at the moment. Somewhere in his vast mind was the little bit of truth that Cas was one of there aces. If they lost there angel up their sleeves, then Lucifer could go relatively unopposed. So the decision was made like that. The holy one lives and Crowley will be the one to save him. Under his own roof. He felt dirty.

Reaching down, he cautiously touched the sticky blood with his finger tips. Nothing happened. Well, that makes thing worlds easier. Rolling Castiel onto his back, the demon thought of what he could do, realistically, to help. And if he didn't already have motivation to save Cas's life, there was always getting blamed for this mess by the chuckle brothers. He'd killed a great many, but he didn't want his name on this one.

Exhaling, he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. This was going to get messy. Assessing the extend of the injuries showed they were mostly shallow cuts from what he could see. He patted the coat's pockets, and pulled out and angel sword. Now this one did hurt.

"Shit!-" Crowley hissed, the burning metal skittering across the floor. Of _course_ it would do that. You try to help a guy out and this is what you get. Murmuring to himself, the demon slid his nails down the row of buttons on Castiel's dress shirt, each one snapping off with a little nag. Oh, here was where the damage control was needed.

Someone had stabbed him twice on his left side, and, as it would seem, tore a hole almost straight through to his back near his heart. The scratches were healing themselves, though it looks like the major wounds weren't getting better soon enough. There was a first aid kit around this place somewhere. Bloody hell, where had he put it last? Crowley glances back down at the withering angel. He might not know much about them, but he did know demons. Go with what you know, right?

Grabbing the angel sword with a sleeve covered hand, he cut the palm of his left hand. Blood steadily welled there as he opened Castiel's mouth further. Crowley could feel faint breath on the back of his hand before he let his life blood drip into the angel. At least that was something. He pressed his free hand down on the most vicious of the injuries hoping to reduce blood loss. Not even sure he was helping, he pressed harder.

Castiel's breathing suddenly turned labored, and for a quick moment Crowley thought that was the end of the feathered dog. It evened out and came back stronger than before. Through this, it took him a minute to realize his hand, wrist deep in angel blood, didn't burn any more. In fact, his whole right side kind of tingled like he's drunk too much coffee. Lifting up on the pressure, he looked down to see it had stopped leaking at a dangerous rate. He dimly pondered of the state of his carpet as he leaned back, a fine sweat broken across his forehead.

Now what was he going to do with this pile of bloody trench coat wearing angel? He honestly considered just leaving him on the floor. Though that didn't seem very friendly of him. It might have been odd but he did consider these people some kind of friends. The kind that didn't trust him as far as they could throw him, sure, but it was something. In the last weeks he'd thought back on all his conquests and noticed he never shared them with anyone before. It didn't bother him so much that there wasn't anyone there, but that there was _never_ anyone there. So it might be the imminent death talking, but he thought that there was a sort of friendship with these acquaintances.

With that in mind, he made Castile a comfy little spot in the dry bath tub on the other side of the villa, to where Crowley couldn't smell that decidingly maple spiced blood. He could sleep it out there. With any hope, that mess would be gone before morning, off to fight a losing war. When he went to wash up, the angel's blood stained his whole forearm, covering part of his rolled up sleeve. There was a quick thought of licking frosting off his fingers, but the notion quickly passes, and he scrubbed it away into the sink, the water turning pink with the pigment, swirling down the drain. _He might not know much on angels, but he did know about demons. _

Demons didn't sleep. Well, that's to say they didn't need to sleep, not that they couldn't. That was all irrelevant now, since he couldn't even begin to slip into a quiet unconscious state as of late. Not with that holy disaster in his house. While sleep eluded him, Crowley sat in his unnecessary large bed. No one had shared his bed in decades. Just a thought. Been busy, he supposed. No time for recreation.

What about now? Couldn't really say he had any major plans for the future. Why not have as much fun before the world burned? With that in mind, he pulled out his iPhone. It played a little electronic jingle as it powered up. He opened his calendar, and deleted everything. No need to be tied down mundane scheduling. Sure a few souls would go uncollected, but nothing too exciting. There was a slight sense of a weight lifting only to be replace by a more heavier inconvenience. Apocalypse. A word older than himself. One he knew sooner or later he'd come to terms with in life. It had finally come.

With that thought of helpless regard, the lights above his head quickly flickered, along with his phone shutting off without the familiar chiming noise. He frowned. There was a sound on the other side of the villa. Slowly, he set his phone back onto the nightstand beside the bed.

The hot sugar smell rushed into the room. He smelled him before actually seeing the angel standing in his doorway. That addictive blood, streaked and stained the side of his face. Dried, and sticky.

"Good morning, sunshine." Crowley said with an ironic smile. His surprise of this happening was hidden shallowly under his skin. Castiel didn't react to the words at all. Just swayed where he stood looking like he'd been to hell and back. Then he wasn't there.

Instead he was right next to the bed, not taking the time to actually walk there. He looked into Crowley's eyes with a distant gaze, and he got the feeling Castiel wasn't really looking at his, rather within him. If he had a soul, he's sure it would have turned away from this stare. Castiel pulled out the angel sword from his dirty tethered trench coat.

Crowley stilled at the sight. He hadn't processed what was going on, but a sword wielding angel, in his experience, wasn't a good thing. An angelic creature with a demon. The thought scared the hell out of him, though he'd never admit it. Fully prepared to protect him self in any way necessary, when the angel was on the bed in a blink of an eye. He took the weapon and sliced into Crowley's palm. The blood bloomed around the cut which was quickly covered by Castiel's eager tongue. A whispered noise broke out of the holy angel. Thrumming deep down in his throat.

This took him by such a surprise. He was under the impression angels had stronger willpower than demons…Obviously not. That slick tongue slid over his burning hand. Castiel's face was turning a subtle scarlet from drinking the blood. Those icy eyes closed against the feeling of it, holding the demon's wrist a little looser. His mouth covered the entire cut.

Crowley dug his hand into the angel's hair, fully intending to pull him away, but the way Cas slowly lapped up his blood, and the maple in the air, and the end of the world. Somewhere along the line, common sense was lost. It might have been when Castiel looked up with those blue eyes, red heat dripping from his mouth. Crowley might dress in suits, and drink fine bourbon, even consider himself _a business man above everything else_, but all of that was just a well tailored shell for the demon that lay with in. The demon that was shredding him up inside.

The complete abandon of reason left his eyes blackened, a rough growl in his throat that was no where near civilized, or human for that matter. Possessed by a sudden laps of lust, Crowley grabbed the angel, pressing him into the sheets. His actions a clamor of desire, and furious want. It was all messy, and rushed, and dark at once. It's insane. Insane and stupid to do what he was thinking. Though for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single reason not to.

Then his hands were tearing their way into those black slacks, and pushing them down with hurried shoves, no room for thought. Castiel's distant stare became a little sharper. Crowley crushed any possible protest with his mouth. Forcing his way past the seam of lips. He could taste his blood all over Castiel's tongue, and it-_fuck_- left him breathless as he slid between the angel's legs.

They're pressed together in a way that's so rough, and terrible but good. A sound forces it's way out of the angel's mouth that leaves Crowley uncomfortably hard in his own dress pants. Breaking away, he straddles Castiel's waist and tilt his hips up. Those divine blue eyes just looked up at him, into him, straight at the lust filled savage just beneath the surface.

Crowley knows what he's doing isn't right, and that he really shouldn't be doing it, but that fact is washed away by the sound Castiel makes when the demon pushes a finger inside. Then another. The angel groans as Crowley scissors his fingers in the slippery hot wetness. He rubs over that special spot deep inside, and he was a little proud of the sounds that came from this supposed angel of the lord.

Crowley with drew his fingers roughly. He pressed into Castiel, hard, and fast, and everything was all heat and pressure. Crowley couldn't stop the ragged breath that was dragged out of him with each greedy shove of his hips. Then, like they'd always been there, there were wings spreading all around them. White, and twitching occasionally in synch with Crowley's shoves.

Head rolled back, the angel letting out breathy moans. His legs wrapped around Crowley's waist, and the feathery wings fallowed close behind. It all made the demon grin viciously and push a bit harder. It surprised a satisfying noise from Castiel deep inside his throat. Everything was shaking on the sharp edge of pain and pleasure when Crowley sank his teeth into the angel's shoulder. The air in Castiel's lungs left fast in a hiss, met by a low growl.

Electric blood flooded Crowley's mouth, buzzing, filling him in every way. Castiel reached through an layer of existence behind Crowley and grabbed, -oh _fuck_-grabbed his tail from another plane. A tremor of pure pleasure rocked through his entire body. He bit down harder dragging a choppy gasp from the angel under him. In response, Castiel pulled harder.

"Ughh." His eyes fluttered shut, ecstasy pushing him steadily towards the closest he was ever going to get to heaven.Their heated breath and bitten words filled the space between them. Swears and threats. Grunts and pleas.

Beneath him, Castiel tense up, breathy moan stuttering into the air. The demon savored the look on his face, as he moved inside of the angel. In a rush of motion his hands flew clumsily to cover Crowley's hungry eyes. Then there was light.

It was all he could see through the hands obscuring his view. Pale warm light surrounding them. Covering every inch of their blasphemous act. Bright and infinitely forgiving. There was a low, almost choked out sound, and the demon wasn't quite sure which one of them it had come from. He felt Castiel shiver under him, twitching through his orgasm. There was a splash of warmth on Crowley's stomach, the feeling mostly lost in the bright, all consuming light.

Then it was gone. All of it. Tired hands fell from his face. They lay limp on the sheets. The angel in his bed looked wrecked, hair disheveled, blood on his lip. Crowley lazily licked it up, his tongue finding its way along his jaw line, leaving a burning trail. A painting of fire on soft skin. Castiel's cum shot all across his belly, and pooled in his naval.

Crowley took a moment to slide out of the angel, admiring the look of the angel as a whole. How far he's fallen shouldn't have been so seductive to the demon. But it was. Deeply. His lips went to Castiel's again, playfully biting his tongue gently. He wasn't really sure what he was doing anymore.

Yes, the world would end. But it wasn't ending tonight. So for now, Crowley, the demon, laid in the wake of gratification. The angel, Castiel, said nothing, silently slipping back into an unnatural sleep, curling slightly into Crowley's warmth.

It vaguely dawned on him as he leafed through the holy messenger's hair, that they weren't _good _and _evil._ Not in general terms. They just _were_. And what ever they were, they're the same. It suddenly seemed so appropriate that they're both going to end up in Purgatory. Forever nothing.


End file.
